


A Worthy Opponent

by shealynn88



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood Kink, Blood and Injury, Dubious Consent, Godstiel - Freeform, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:14:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27401047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shealynn88/pseuds/shealynn88
Summary: Castiel is cleansing the earth.  It's time someone did.  But he may have met his match in this small town beekeeper who is so much more than he seems.
Relationships: Cain/Castiel (Supernatural)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	A Worthy Opponent

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the spn rarepair bingo.

The stench of sin is strong, even from the road. Even from the next town over. He’d come for _them_ —for the sinners who pretended to be devout, who lied and coveted and worshiped false idols. But even the worst of them, duly punished, now, have nothing on this _evil_.

The sin is so thick he can’t pull it apart—it’s not one sin or another, a dark thought or act, it’s a cloud, a miasma, a _fog_ of darkness, of countless sins of ego and violence. Committed not once, but a thousand times. Not a confession or prayer to lighten the load. Just _darkness_ , heavy and rotten over the small cabin at the edge of town.

There are beehives to one side. A vegetable garden to the other. A less perceptive creature would walk right by, never knowing the horror they’ve passed by. 

The door is no match for his Grace, his righteous anger. 

The creature, the source of it all, takes a sip from his tumbler calmly. “Easy on that door,” he says. “I hope you didn’t ruin the bracing, I carved it myself.” He takes another drink, slow and easy. “The detail work’s not necessary, of course, but I thought it added a nice touch.”

Something about the way he leans back, the way he sits, the way he watches Castiel with carefree eyes wakes memories inside him, complicated and nearly human. He presses them back. That was what he was _before_. Weak and driven by emotional considerations. 

No longer.

He’s strong, now. Clean. Righteous. He’s given up everything he was to become this - something better. Something that can do what needs to be done. Cleansing. A _true_ cleansing of the world.

“Don’t worry about the door,” Castiel says quietly, stepping inside. “You won’t be needing it.” He pauses, allows himself to grow bigger, for his trueform to loom as a shadow behind him. The Darkness inside him—the souls of Purgatory that fuel him, now—laugh inside him gleefully. “It is time to answer for your sins.” He has to search for the name, even with all the power he has at his disposal. It comes, but slowly. And with it, dread. Horror. The certainty that he’s doing what should have been done a long time ago. “Cain,” he says, an accusation and a judgement.

The man chuckles. “I see. Here to kill me, I suppose?”

Castiel nods. “I’m cleansing the earth,” he says softly. “And you are a blemish.”

The man nods, still smiling. “And what of _your_ sins, my dark friend?” he asks, as if he can sow doubt in one such as Castiel. 

Castiel shrugs it off easily. “I have forgiven my transgressions in the name of the greater good.”

The man seems surprised for the first time since Castiel entered the cabin. “Have you? Are you God, then? What shall I call you?”

Castiel watches him with narrowed eyes. “Call me Castiel. Call me justice. It doesn’t matter what name you utter. I didn’t want the crown. But I _did_ take it. So, you see. I have only myself to answer to.”

Cain tilts his head, questioning. “Not even your brethren?” 

Castiel sighs. Cain is obviously wasting time—a useless but understandable tactic for one who does not wish to die.

But the end to the battle is already decided. Castiel answers more out of curiosity than anything. “They don’t understand my vision. But they will. I’ll show them.”

Cain smiles, and it doesn’t look evil at all—which only makes it more dangerous. “What an interesting foe you’re proving to be,” he says quietly. “You’ve done it all for the best of reasons, haven’t you? And here you are—the very thing you hate the most. You don’t know it yet, but trust me. You will.” 

The certainty there makes Castiel uneasy. He knows he’s done the right thing. But there is something inside him. Something dark at the edges.

No. It’s Cain. Great evil has only the power of doubt. Only the power he grants it.

Castiel steps forward and touches his palm to Cain’s forehead, pressing his Grace forward, and the souls inside him scream and gibber in something that sounds like excitement.

Cain screams and blue pours from his eyes and mouth, but then something happens. A pull at Castiel’s sleeve and a sharp pain in his side, and suddenly he is on the floor and the man, this small embodiment of evil, is standing over him with his own angel blade in hand, and it’s like something dark has been set free, and something in Castiel sings with it.

The soft demeanor of the beekeeper is gone. The new man is more of what Castiel was expecting when he first entered - laughing and feral, mouth twisted, hand dripping blood, eyes shining. “Ah, it really does get the blood pumping, doesn’t it,” he says in a low voice. “It’s been a very long time, angel, since someone came after me with such conviction and _power_. Well done. But you see, the Mark doesn’t allow me to die. I’ve tried, friend. Believe me. We may be here a very long time.”

Castiel is whole with a thought. He grabs the angel blade as he comes to his feet, tossing Cain across the cabin. Cain laughs and it’s full of some horrific _joy_ , and it’s echoed again by something dark inside Castiel. 

Something like doubt begins to rise again. Insidious. _Evil_.

He shoves it down and stalks toward Cain, angel blade raised. Cain moves as fast as an angel, kicks his knee and the entire joint snaps inward, rendering Castiel’s vessel useless, and then he smashes Castiel’s head back against the floorboards until Castiel feels something crack and a spray of blood stains Cain’s face.

Castiel thrusts him away with one arm and the good leg, his Grace already at work, knitting skull and knee until he can move easily again. 

“Do you really think you can win against a God?” he asks, kicking Cain once, hard enough to feel ribs crack before Cain grabs his foot and twists him off center, pulls until he’s on the floor again. 

Cain straddles him, presses him down into the rough hewn floorboards. “I think I’ve found a worthy battle,” he says, still with that infuriating smile, like he’s just come alive after a long sleep. 

The angel blade is across the room and Castiel is evaluating distribution of weight and pressure, what will cause the least amount of damage to him when Cain nuzzles into his throat in a way that electrifies his vessel, sending new signals to all his limbs, making them tingle as if his circulation is compromised. 

Cain bites down, teeth sinking into Castiel’s jaw, pain explodes and something else, something that rises through him like the tide. 

Cain comes away with blood on his face, his whisper rough. “You taste like darkness. _Monstrous_.” He bends again and Castiel stiffens with anticipation, but it’s all tongue this time, lapping at the warm spread of blood making its way down to Castiel’s shirt collar. 

His vessel reacts more strongly this time, stiffening everywhere—hands clenched, lungs pressed flat in a sudden hitch and sigh, penis thick and firm beneath his slacks. It’s an odd sort of pain. All that tightness, the sharp sting of wounds he’s stopped his Grace from closing. It feels like...anticipation. Build. Like the moment before he leaves a vessel, before the souls, before, before, _more, more, more_. 

Cain delivers, and the fight isn’t really a battle anymore, despite the blood, despite the way Castiel is yanking his head, scraping at his body, digging fingers in until the nails snap through skin. 

Their blood mingles and Cain continues that abrasion with his tongue. 

“Will you take what I give you?” Cain whispers. 

Castiel nods and Cain leans in, _licks_ in, and Castiel tastes blood, metallic and odd. Molecules. Old, _old_ blood. Grace and darkness, sin and the very best of intentions, and he wishes he knew what was him and what was Cain. 

And then Cain pushes forward, gives him more, and then more, and tension builds, and his lungs forget to expand fully, his blood flows, his body tenses, tenses, and Castiel takes what he is given. 

It feels like corruption. It feels like sin. it feels like benediction and prayer and service. And then it feels like _release._

* * *

“I _will_ return,” Castiel says.

It’s meant to be a threat, but Cain only smiles. “I look forward to it.”

Castiel opens his mouth to clarify, but he has found actions to be more effective than threats. The solution here is _strength_. More souls, perhaps. With time and the power of souls and faith, the righteous fear of his followers—with that, he can wipe this evil from the earth. 

He nods finally, once. “Until then.” 

He leaves through the hole he left with his entrance and ignores the darkness he carries out with him.


End file.
